


take until there is nothing left.

by Larrant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, ahahahahaha im sorry about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrant/pseuds/Larrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And the harshness is a drug, the pain is their reality. The heat that they take is something that is forcefully ripped away.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	take until there is nothing left.

**Author's Note:**

> welp i just finished this so its off to bed i go goodnight

 

 

There is nothing soft between them.

 

Not in their words. Not in their touches.

 

They fuck beneath metal arches, and the heat of their bodies clashes painfully with the frozen numbness of the wall. Nothing is peaceful. No half measures can be taken. They are harsh with each other, consuming and devouring and wild. The blood from their lips mingle and their nails cut red into skin, digging ever deeper into flesh. They are animals, caught in some frenzied heat- a need that is only primeval and primitive.

 

They take from each other, and take and take until they are no longer themselves but filled with the other's gore. There are holes in their chests that cannot be filled, but the torn flesh from the other's wounds seems to somewhat make up for it.

 

(they kiss beneath metal arches, and the warmth of it chases away the cold)

 

How it started, nobody can know. And nobody knows. But it is perhaps the nature of predators to be drawn to each other, wolves and hyenas and the things that bite in the dark.

 

Ah, they are cold to each other in public, and the cold is something frozen, something frigid. Snapped words and cold glances, nothing more than bitter rivalry, a competition for success. It is distance that is between them, and it is separation.

 

It is a different kind of cold entirely when they are together in the barren rooms of Ren's quarters, when clothes are torn and buckles ripped and it reverberates along the metal walls when Hux is slammed against them with his wrists pinned up by cold leather.

 

It is a cold that is fiery and freezing, a cold that burns like ice to the touch, ice that splinters and cuts through flesh- who it comes from, both of them, neither of them, but it infects like a cancer that grips the body, not a parasite- not a parasite but petrol with a match thrown on the spilled contents, painful and sudden, burning and all-consuming.

 

When they take, they take from the blood in each other's veins, suck deep into red, red marrow, suck until all the moisture is gone, until all the nutrients have been licked clean from the snapped bone. They devour the flesh from the other's skeleton like cannibals feasting or predators hunting- taking from each other until both are dead, until there is more of the other in them than themselves.

 

And somehow, even though they are both taking and losing more than they take, it feels good.

 

(It will never be enough, nothing is ever enough. But it comes close. It comes so very, very close.)

 

It does not matter either, whether they are injured or not- the pain is something that is always scratched into skin anyway, and Hux hums when he licks the red from an opened cut, drinks it down and swallows like he does the same to Kylo. It taints his lips a bright crimson, his teeth the same shade, a metal that Kylo too tastes when he seeks to reclaim anything of himself from the man's mouth.

 

But always it is more than gets taken. He never gets anything back.

 

Once, when Hux's fingers trail down from Kylo's forehead, to his eye, to his cheek, it is almost a lover's caress. Almost tender. Painfully, painfully tender. His fingers dance their slow waltz to his throat, slide across the long expanse of neck, until he can feel the pulse thrumming under his palm, the beat of life that sustains the beast within the skin. And then his fingers tighten.

 

A gasp, choked and stunned. Kylo struggles, spits words in languages that must be from at least four systems, twelve languages. He snarls at Hux to stop. The General laughs, tells him to focus on the pleasure, and fucks him all the harder, drives the Sith to orgasm without ever touching him.

 

The bruises that form will never be visible underneath the black cloth Ren wears, but the rasp that sounds even through the mask even days after is worth it. An invisible mark, and yet tangible nonetheless.

 

(ah, but Kylo always tells him to stop. And so, just once when they are months in, Hux does. The pressure on his neck evaporates, the heat that is always there suddenly gone. And Kylo freezes. He pants and strains- and oh Hux can _see_ it, how he writhes and how his stutters- that he is so close but he cannot come and _you bastard Hux what have you done_. He makes Kylo beg for it before he lets his fingers find their usual crevices- and the choked whimper that follows, a sound he can feel vibrate up Kylo's throat- it is a syrup that he drinks up and takes all for himself.)

 

And the harshness is a drug, the pain is their reality. The heat that they take is something that is forcefully ripped away.

 

There can never be anything soft between them.

 

And there can never be exceptions.

 

Concessions do not exist after all, not when it is a fight to the death. Something as trivial as 'I don't feel like it' is hardly an excuse. Something like that might just as well be considering defeat to your opponent. And when Kylo whimpers and sobs, when his bones feel tremulous and fragile underneath an unforgiving grip, when he cannot break and yet he wants to, Hux smiles and the tip of his tongue darts out to taste the liquid salt traced down a pale cheek, and he knows that what he tastes is called ownership.

 

It drives home his victory all the more.

 

But they are battles in a war that he wins. And every time it is a battle. A vicious fight to see who ends up on top. And sometimes Kylo wins. Most times, Hux is the one to have Kylo on his knees.

 

But sometimes, just sometimes, it is Kylo who has Hux forced to the floor, there on the ground rutting on all fours like an animal, his gloved fingers tightening in dishevelled red hair, too harsh and too hard as he tugs back Hux's head, forces a wanton moan from past unwilling lips. Hux's palms are raw by the end of it all, his knees aching and scored, and sometimes Kylo fucks him in front of the mirror, forces his head forwards and makes him open his eyes, whispers it in his ear when he whimpers- _such a slut for this, aren't you_.

 

And just once. Just one of those times, to make this even more a lasting cruelty, when Hux throws back his head and comes, it is Kylo's name that dances so choked on his tongue, not quite able to be swallowed back. And it falls sweet like nectar devoured by the beast.

 

A slow toxin, the nectar that will reach his veins and cripple him, all in due time.

 

After all, predators are not allowed happy endings. Not even endings, not true ones.

 

And it could never be something that lasted.

 

Even at the end, it is cruel. There is blood leaking from a hole in Hux's chest, an arm that is missing, probably metres away- it will never be reattached and it will never need to be reattached, because there is no healing one like him. Not now.

 

And there is blood, everywhere. It dribbles from his mouth, deep red and thick, drops to the ground and splatters like ink. It stains his mouth, his uniform, his hair.

 

Kylo can only watch. Nothing can be done.

 

Hux smiles, and with his last bloodied words still on his tongue, he reaches up a hand- a hand that shakes, and yet is so very, very firm, pulls Kylo down and devours him once more. Once more for the last time.

 

He takes him with his teeth and with his tongue and with his lips, and he takes all the breath from Kylo's lungs. He takes and he takes and he takes, and this is the last time so he takes it all, and Kylo can do nothing because even if it is not _given_ it is still **taken** , and he can only grasp at Hux's stained tunic, unable to pull away because something in that grip is hard and indomitable and he is helpless in the face of it.

 

He can do nothing until there is **nothing** left- until Hux has sucked out every last drop from within him and he is left empty. And it is only then that Hux smiles, as if taking it all is finally enough. A finally, shuddering breath, and before he falls, he whispers a word that is forever lost into Ren's mouth.

 

And Kylo will never be full again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: itsakylo.tumblr.com


End file.
